Music and people hold my life together. I describe experiences, discoveries and insights, often connected with music and with teaching and playing piano. The blog is a way to stay in touch with friends, and may also be food for thought for anyone else, especially people connected with music and the piano/
Musik und Menschen halten mein Leben zusammen. Ich beschreibe Erfahrungen, Entdeckungen und Einsichten, oft in Zusammenhang mit dem Klavierspiel und dem Klavierunterricht.

Saturday, April 19, 2014

Hanna, my piano student, who had the last lesson on Thursday, arrived very concerned: “There’s a little boy outside who is carrying around a baby squirrel, and it’s injured. He says the squirrel has been following him around.” We figured we’d better check it out.

The little boy’s name is Rodney, and he was just about to go inside when we arrived. He put the squirrel on the ground. “I’m not supposed to bring him in,” he explained. The little creature had a bloody nose. I remembered the sturdy carrier I used when I brought Cappuccina from Germany. “Let me go get it,” I said, “I can put him in there and leave him in the hallway, to keep him away from the cats.”

Siddhartha and Genie Ramses aren’t equipped for the task. Besides, they’re more into Bach these days.

Siddhartha and Genie Ramses, studying the score

By the time I got back downstairs with the carrier, a car was standing in the middle of the street. It had just pulled out of a drive way, and the little squirrel was hiding underneath. The driver was considerate and stopped at once. The little squirrel was sitting under the car, his nose still bleeding, but we couldn’t reach him. “He might have rabies, you know,” said the driver. I went back inside to get a broom, a pair of oven mitts, and the snow shovel that’s still in the porch - we did have some snow on Tuesday night.

From on side of the car, I gently nudged the squirrel towards Hanna, who was holding the shovel on the other side. Eventually, she got him into the carrier. Once inside, we finally got a good look at him. He was sitting on his hind legs on the towel, shivering and making little squirrel sounds. We decided to give him some time to calm down, while Hanna had the rest of her piano lesson.

I’ll skip the details of the two hours I spent on the phone and on the internet after Hanna left. The bottom line is: It’s not a good idea for a squirrel to get into trouble after the animal shelter, the vet and city administration are closed for the evening. One of my adult students researched the reputation of animal care and control in Maplewood, with encouraging results. I left several messages on different answering machines, before I was referred to the animal hospital in Morris Plains, about 30 miles from here. They treat wildlife for free, and release the animals after they recover. “If you like, you can bring the squirrel in the morning. In the meantime, leave him alone and quiet in the dark,” the person on the phone instructed me. The squirrel had settled into a corner and curled up, when I checked on him. He opened one eye and looked at me. I told him that he was safe, before I switched off the light.

I hope he’s still breathing, I thought when I tiptoed down the stairs in the morning. I found him pretty much as I had left him, curled up, breathing and fast asleep. I also reached my friends Bill and Margaret, who are involved in animal rescue and cat therapy. They agreed at once to drive us to Morris Plains.

Things didn’t look too good when we arrived at the clinic. “He’s barely hanging in there,” said the receptionist, “but they always try. You’re welcome to call and inquire.”

When I called in the afternoon, things didn’t look much better. The squirrel was in an incubator to raise his body temperature, before anything else could be done. I wished I’d put another towel on top of him in the carrier.

This morning, I was hesitant to inquire. I tried to prepare myself for the news that the little guy had passed on to a better place.

The woman who answered the phone took a very long time to go and check what had happened to him. At last she returned and said: “He’s fine, they’re actually starting to look into placing him with someone.”

I needed an extra confirmation: “So, did he pull through?”

“What do you mean?” she replied.

“I mean, is he out of danger?”

“Oh yes, of course, he’s moving around, he’s a happy camper.”

Six people, a child, a teenager and four adults played a part in getting a little squirrel to the animal hospital, so that he could be saved to hopefully live a long and happy squirrel life. Some might argue that squirrels are a dime a dozen, and they are. But there’s that tiny spark of life in them, and I don’t think it’s any different from the one that keeps us humans breathing.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

I’ve been invited to hold four sessions on Bach’s “Well-Tempered Clavier II” as part of the adult education program at the Unitarian Church of All Souls in New York City, where I sing in the choir. Last year, I presented the entire work at the Ethical Culture Society here in Maplewood over a period of three months. We called it a “listening journey,” that involved mostly playing, with the exception of the introductory lecture.
Now, the setting is different, the time divided between playing and “presentation.” I feel fairly comfortable with the playing, but the “presentation” part gives me a headache. Talking to people and playing for people are two different mental modes, and I find it hard to switch. And then there is the problem of deciding in advance what I am going to say to an audience I don’t know.

As the first date approaches, it’s time for a full-blown attack of stage fright.

The mass of facts about the music that I’ve accumulated is threatening to smother me. Every article I read, and every book I pick up on the topic shows me how much I don’t know. What if someone asks a question I can’t answer?

I’ve been studying the pieces for a couple of years now. I still don’t know every note, and I doubt that I ever will. How can I expect the audience to hear anything? It might be the first encounter with the music for many. Apart from all that, I’m not sure I really know how to prepare for such an event...

My mind freezes over the notes on my desk. I try to read the text I’ve written out, and I can’t get past the first two sentences. Should I read first, or should I play first? How is anyone in the audience supposed to retain all this? In despair, I turn to the piano and practice some more. At least that gets me out of the panic.

Several days later I’ve scheduled some time to try out the piano at the church, where I play for about two hours. On leaving, I run into the art teacher, who is sorting through materials in the class room next door.

“Just so you know,” she says, “I don’t need to be here, but I stayed way past my time, to listen to the music. What is is, and what is it for?” I explain the project and invite her to come. There’s something about Bach’s music that draws people in. The painter said so, who painted the house where I lived in Concord, and I’ve heard it from my neighbors where I live now. There is an understanding that does not depend on knowledge of facts or familiarity with music theory.

At home that evening, I listen to the recording I made during my rehearsal. It plays the music back to me the way I hear it in my mind. Its beauty strikes me, and draws me in. Every once in a while I remember that it’s my own playing. I notice a few flaws on the side, the tempo isn’t always steady, some wrong notes, some shaky passagework.

The music speaks for itself, and it is going win. This is not about me, it is about the beauty and the balance that the music conveys. It will come through, no matter what I say, and it will transcend a few wrong notes.

I need to organize my thoughts and continue to practice, but most of all, I need to open my heart, and allow myself to be filled with the music. I need to do what I’m asking the audience to do.

The insight made me bold enough to send out the announcement, and return to the task of preparing for it with joy and confidence.

Music as Inspiration and Life Support - Preludes and Fugues from J.S. Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier Book 2.

I will provide some historical background and an introduction to Bach's compositional style, but the focus is on opening the listeners emotionally to receive the music, and inviting them to forge a spiritual connection between the compositions and their personal lives.

Program:

Sunday, April 27: General introduction, Preludes and Fugues No 1-4

Sunday, May 4: Preludes and Fugues No 9, E-major, No 20, A-minor, No 21 B-flat major, No 10, E-minor

Sunday May 11: Preludes and Fugues No 18, G-sharp minor, No 8, D-sharp minor, No 6, D-minor, No 23 B-major

Sunday May 18: Preludes and Fugues No 11, F-major, No 14, F-sharp minor, No 19 A-major, No 22, B-flat minor

All sessions take place in Reidy Friendship Hall at the Unitarian Church of All Souls, Lexington Ave/ E 80th street, New York City at 11:15 am, duration 1 hour. Admission is free, all are welcome.

Afterwards, an audio recording of the lectures will be accessible under the link below: